


After Hours

by Lasgalendil



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Peggy Carter, BAMF Angie Martinelli, Bisexual Peggy Carter, Broadway, Cartinelli - Freeform, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fluff and Smut, L&L Automat, POV Peggy Carter, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: But the upside—if there indeed was an upside—to Peggy's day was at its close: The L&L Automat’s re-warmed pies, chilled whipped cream, and a hot cup of New York coffee. It wasn’t tea, of course, but it was American. And for the woman who’d jumped the Atlantic during the war and decided to stay, it was enough. Most days, it was enough.And when it wasn’t—? Tonight Peggy has a different dish in mind.(…or the smutty Peggy/Angie Automat oneshot no one ever asked for.)





	

Crikey O’Reilly it’s been a long day. A long, bloody day.  
  
Agent Margaret Elizabeth “Peggy” Carter of the Strategic Scientific Reserve attended a USSR intelligence briefing, only to be handed the bins by an FBI official, with the complaint they weren’t satisfactorily emptied the night before.  
  
To make matters worse, Chief Thompson went along with it with that smirk on his corn-fed, self-satisfied face, first scolding her, then sending her to fetch coffee and sandwich orders. “Hop to it, Marge.”  
  
“Sir, yes, sir,” Peggy had said, giving Thompson her best smile and most murderous eyes.  
  
Dum Dum had asked her back with the 107th, working with the Howling Commandos, Zionist partisans, _la resistance_ , and even МГБ to eradicate the remains of HYDRA and those of Hitler’s officers who escaped justice at Nuremburg. And bloody hell, she’d turned him down. What the figurative fuck had she been thinking—?  
  
Miss Union Jack, indeed. Falsworth had bloody well made it work. Why not her as well—?  
  
But the upside—if there indeed was an upside—to her day was at its close: The L&L Automat’s re-warmed pies, chilled whipped cream, and a cup of New York coffee. It wasn’t _tea_ , of course, but it was American. And for the woman who’d jumped the Atlantic during the war and decided to stay, it was enough. Most days, it was enough.  
  
And when it wasn’t—?  
  
“Hey, English!” Angie called from behind the counter, wiping away another evening’s crumbs. “I was wondering when you’d show up! You’re late tonight. We’re just about to close up shop.”  
  
“Your audition,” Peggy asked. “How did it go?”  
  
Angie made a face, wrinkled up that adorable nose. “I got all the way through _You’re A Queer One, Julie Jordan_ before that knucklehead’s secretary tells me Arlene French already got the part.”  
  
“I say.”  
  
“Oh, I certainly did! Old chrome-dome creep just getting girls in there for private auditions alls so he can make a pass when he knows it’s already been cast! Gave him a piece of my mind, that’s what. Probably got myself blacklisted from the Boardwalk to Broadway.”  
  
“It must’ve been quite the show.”  
  
“Oh, I’ll say. Say, English, what’ll it be? The usual?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Peggy said, placing her purse on the clean counter, leaning into it. “I thought I might try another dish tonight.”  
  
“Well have a menu, honey,” Angie rolled her eyes. “We’re closing up shop.”  
  
“Oh,” Peggy pursed her lips, looked at her rather deliberately. “I’m quite counting on it.”  
  
Angie’s clear eyes brightened, cheeks flushed. “Shut up, English. Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”  
  
“Well then,” Peggy said. “Perhaps we’ll have to find some other occupation for my mouth, then.”  
  
Angie let out a squawk.  “Peg!”  
  
“Hey, can I get a refill here or what, sugar?” Mr. Regular Arsehole, Esq. called.  
  
“Sure thing, sweetheart. Right on it,” Angie simpered, then drew a line across her own throat with a dramatic scowl. Peggy bit back a laugh. “Let me get this jerk his coffee, I’ll be right back,” she promised, taking the stale pot from the percolator.  
  
“No hurry,” Peggy sipped her own coffee, parted lips lingering on the cup’s edge, a bright stain of lipstick smeared all down the white china.  
  
Angie crossed her legs. Leaned against the counter.  Let out a little groan  
  
Peggy pulled the day’s newspaper out of her purse. Unfolded it and became thoroughly engrossed. “Well, do get on with it,” she insisted. “You have customers. And you have to close.” _The New York Examiner_ , it must be said, was hardly an entertaining read. But Peggy Carter consumed her coffee and paper with steadfast intent, as the diner closed up and cleaned up around her. And finally—bloody finally—the door was locked and the lights were off, and they were left only the faint glow of the fluorescent sign outside.  
  
…Left, it must be said, rather alone. Together.  
  
“You need another refill, honey?” Angie called from the direction of the counter. Peggy made a show of folding her paper, standing and stretching slowly. “Well, hurry up. The damn coffee’s getting cold,” Angie pouted. “And my ass, too.”  
  
And oh, oh she was sat on the very edge of the bar, spread, wet, and already swollen, naked as the day she was born, the soft swell of her hips and arse pressed against the marble. Her pert breasts peeked out from under her hair, and yet another dark curtain ran gently down her belly, thickening over the open juncture of her thighs. She was gorgeous, an Italian Aphrodite, and all her own.  
  
Peggy pulled up a barstool. And sat.  
  
“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” She purred, breathing against Angie’s bellybutton and nuzzling slowly down towards her prize.  
  
“Yeah,” Angie snorted, hands in her hair. “Some casting director, just this morning. Not in so many words. You gonna get to work, honey, or we gonna talk all night?”  
  
Peggy slapped her, then.  Left the hard outline of her hand against the smooth side of Angie’s buttocks. Angie hissed, wincing and writhing in that strange mixture of pain and bliss. “What, English,” she cajoled. “All that fancy SSR training, and that’s all you got—?”  
  
“Oh, darling, you’ve no idea.”


End file.
